


A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes [When You're Fast Asleep]

by LovelyJehan



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, PHASES (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Disney, M/M, Magic, Male Cinderella, Multi, Pete takes care of his friends, Spencer takes care of Ryan, Talking Animals, cinderella!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyJehan/pseuds/LovelyJehan
Summary: Brendon smiled widely, “I had the most wonderful dream. I was dancing with a prince!”A Cinderella!au because I love Disney a little too much





	1. Sweet dreams (are made of this)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first chaptered fic that I've written in a few years, constructive criticism would be appreciated.

Brendon woke up to birds nuzzling at his face. He groaned and stretched his arms over his head. Blinking a few times before his eyes came to rest on the sunrise outside the window of the attic. The birds had pulled the curtains back. 

Brendon smiled widely, “I had the most wonderful dream. I was dancing with a prince!” His face fell,  “But I suppose all good dreams must come to an end.” 

He pushed the covers back from the bed and stepped onto the wooden floor. A bath had been drawn behind the changing screen, and Brendon hurried to get into it before the water turned cold. His warm baths were one of the only good things about being here.

Brendon had been forced to live with his stepmother and stepbrothers after the untimely death of his father. His poor mother had died giving birth to him. His stepfamily was not kind to him, but Brendon did as he was told. His father would want him to appease the guests residing in his house (despite the fact that his father left the house to Brendon, his stepmother had decided that Brendon was too young to own it for himself). Brendon strived to do as he was asked, he couldn’t go against his father, even in his death.

After he had scrubbed himself clean, or as clean as he could get using only water, Brendon allowed himself to stay in until the water turned cold. It was sooner rather than later, but Brendon dragged himself up and got changed, getting ready for the day. There would be an extensive list of chores to be done, starting with serving his step-mother and brothers breakfast, then feeding the animals, and finally being able to feed himself if there was time, if not it would be straight onto cleaning the dishes, dusting every available surface, and scrubbing the floors until he could see his face staring back at him.

Brendon’s head lurched back as Pete tugged on a piece of Brendon’s hair. He was a mouse that had befriended Brendon a few years ago.

“What’s the matter, Petey?” Brendon asked, gently.

“There’s a mouse on the staircase! A new one! I’ve never seen him before! He’s stuck in a trap!” He exclaimed.

Brendon gently set Pete down on the bed, “Calm down, Petey. I’ll go check on the mouse, okay?”

Brendon closed the attic door and walked towards the stairs. Pete was right, a mouse was stuck in one of his step-mother’s traps.

“Hey, little guy,” Brendon said carefully, “I’ll help you out of there.” The poor mouse looked frightened, but nodded it’s head.

“It’s okay,” Brendon whispered, “I’ve got you.” He placed an open palm in the cage and let the mouse clambered onto it. The mouse nuzzled into Brendon’s hand causing him to giggle. 

“What’s your name, little guy?” 

“Pat, Patrick,” the mouse stuttered. 

“Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Patrick. I’ll introduce you to Pete, he’s a mouse too. He’ll show you around. I’ve got to get breakfast started,” Brendon said, climbing up the stairs by two. 

“Did you get him?” Pete asked, poking his small head out of a hole in the doorway. 

“Yes, Petey. His name is Patrick. He’s a little shy so be nice, okay?” Brendon told him gently. He set Patrick down, and descended the staircase, quickly. His shoe came loose on the final step, causing Brendon to slip. He clutched the banister before taking some deep breaths, body in slight panic after the near fall. He slipped his shoe back onto his foot before continuing on his way to the kitchen. 

The three bells that connected to his stepbrother’s and hisstepmother’s rooms had yet to be rung, but Brendon knew that they would be going off constantly if he did not start making their breakfast soon. Scrambled eggs was his best bet if he did not want to get into any trouble. He grabbed six eggs out of the basket, cracked them into a bowl and added a dash of milk. He whisked them until they combined before he poured the mixture into a hot pan. 

Bread was being toasted on the fire as he carefully made the eggs. If they were undercooked or overdone, he’d be punished and Brendon really really didn’t want that. He took his stepmother’s portion out first as Brent and Shane both preferred theirs to be less runny. After he plated their eggs and toast, he carefully balanced one plate on his head and one plate on either arm. 

He walked as slowly as he could afford up the stairs and towards Brent’s room. The man was still asleep so Brendon gently set his plate on one of the side tables. Both his stepbrothers had large double beds and tables on either side. Brendon longed to have even just a new mattress, but he wouldn’t dare to ask his stepmother for one. 

Shane was awake when Brendon entered his room, hand on the string to ring the bell. He removed it slowly when he heard Brendon. Shane smiled slightly at Brendon, but it was hard to tell because the curtains hadn’t been drawn back yet.

Taking the plate off of his head, Brendon opened the door to his stepmother’s room.

“Put on the table,” She said, her voice sounding wicked as it always did. “I have a list of chores for you to complete today, Brendon. I expect them done to the highest standard.” She held out a scroll to him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” He replied, voice barely above a whisper as he took the scroll from her.

 _“Good boy_ ,” The tone of her voice sent shivers down Brendon’s spine and he hurried out of the bedroom. The list of chores covered the entire length of the page, there was so much to be done without a single person to help.

He sighed and began drawing back the curtains that covered the large windows of the corridor as he walked down it. Brendon walked back down the stairs and out into the yard. He stuck his shoed feet into a pair of clogs before grabbing the bags of grain and putting it into the animals’ troughs.

“There’s enough to go round!” Brendon exclaimed as the chickens began fighting and squawking. He took a fistful and held it out as they pecked it from his hand.

After all the animals had been fed, Brendon washed his hands and removed his clogs before going back into the kitchen. He looked at the clock on the wall. There was no way he was going to be able to fit breakfast in now, not with the list of chores he’d been given. There was only so much time in a day, even with the help of the mice.


	2. With A Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A knock at the door drew Brendon away from his work

It was midday and Brendon had already cleaned the dishes from the morning and dusted the house. His stomach growled and he felt dizzy as he knelt on the tiled floor. His stepbrothers were having music lessons, as their mother had insisted. Neither of them could sing very well, despite what Shane and Brent thought. Brendon began scrubbing at the floor, it got dirty extremely quickly. The mice often thought it was his Stepmother doing it on purpose, but Brendon didn't like to accuse people unless they were proven guilty. 

“Let’s try again shall we?” He heard his Stepmother sigh from the music room, “1, 2, 3, 4,”

_“Oh, sing sweet nightingale,”_ Brent and Shane wailed. Brendon winced, they truly were awful, but there was no way he could voice that opinion.

 _“Sing sweet nightingale,”_ They continued. He concentrated on scrubbing the floor.

The lesson went on for what seemed like forever to Brendon. It was probably more like half an hour. Even his Stepmother couldn’t take their ‘singing’ forever, despite how perfect she always claimed her boys to be.

“Brendon,” She snapped.

Brendon turned his head to face her, “Yes, Ma’am?”

“You will not be joining us for dinner tonight. You are filthy and I will not allow my sons to dine with that,” She said, forcefully.

“But, Ma’am,” Brendon replied, “I have not had a meal all day.”

“Well, that is hardly my fault, is it?” She hooked a finger under his jaw, “My decision is final. I have graciously taken you in to _my_ house after your father died, and this is how you repay me? Honestly, you’d think you’d have learnt by now, that my word is law in this household. You are merely the servant. Got that, boy?”

“Yes. Yes, Ma’am,” He stuttered.

“Now finish cleaning the floors like a good boy.” She strode away and Brendon could feel the tears prickling at his eyes. He wiped them away hastily with the back of his hand.

 _“Sing sweet nightingale. High above me,”_ He sang quietly as he got back to work.

A knock at the door drew Brendon away from his work almost as quickly as he had started it. He opened it to reveal a man in a uniform with a red sash across his body.

“I am Lord Spencer, representing His Royal Highness, Prince Ryan. I am here to inform you that any eligible male is invited to the palace for a ball in honour of his Highness in two days time. Here is your official invitation,” The man, Spencer, said, holding out an envelope with the royal emblem on the wax seal.

Brendon went to take it, but another hand shot out and took it instead, “I will be taking this.” It was his Stepmother.

“Thank you, Sir,” Brendon said for her, bowing his head slightly before closing the door.

“What is that mother?” Brent asked as he and Shane clambered down the staircase.

“This, boys, is our chance at becoming royalty,” She grinned.

Brent and Shane looked at each other, smiling.

“Can I go?” Brendon asked. The smiles dropped from their faces. “He did say ‘any eligible male’ and well, I’m eligible.”

“Mother, please tell me he’s not coming,” Brent said.

“Mother, he can’t. He’s merely a servant. We’ll be a laughing stock,” Shane pleaded.

“I don’t see why not-” She began.

“Thank you, thank you,” Brendon replied.

“-But only if you complete all your chores and help Shane and Brent with their clothes and if you can find yourself something to wear, that won’t cost us anything.”

“And if I do all of that, I’ll be allowed to go?” Brendon asked, suspicious.

“Indeed. Now get back to work.”

~*~

Night had fallen and Brendon lay shivering on his bed. He could feel how empty his stomach was and could hear it rumble every so often and his head pounded with the need for water. A tear made it’s way down his cheek as he thought of his Stepmother and stepbrothers who had long since gone to bed. How they had purposefully left food on their plates, but had stayed to watch him clean up, making sure he couldn’t steal their food as his Stepmother had put it.

If only his father were here. Then Brendon would’ve been able to dine with them and he wouldn't have to sleep in the attic or do all the chores by himself or only have animals for company. But he'd never go against the people who treated him so harshly, couldn’t bear to disappoint his parents like that. He rolled over in his bed, coming face to face with Pete, Patrick and Sarah. 

“We got you some food,” Sarah said, nodding her furry head towards the door.

“You did what?” Brendon asked, skeptically. Surely this was just a mirage.

“We brought you some food from the kitchen!” Explained Pete, “It was Patrick’s idea.”

“Well, I just, uh, overhead how you hadn't eaten all day, and you did save me from the trap, so I asked Pete if we could get you some food, then he told Sarah, who told the rest of the mice and we carried it up here,” Patrick rambled, the blush on his cheeks making it evident that he was embarrassed.

Brendon smiled at him, “Thank you.” He pulled back the covers and quietly crept across the room to retrieve the plate. It was simple, bread and butter and a glass of water, but it was something.

“No seriously. Thank you. I don’t know where I’d be without you three and the rest of the mice. You didn’t have to do that Patrick.”

“I wanted to,” Patrick said, “You didn’t even know me, yet you saved me from a trap. Most humans would’ve just left me there. Killed me.”

Brendon patted his head lightly with his finger. He ate the sandwich slowly, not wanting to make himself feel sick. He could feel it passing into his stomach and he knew it was never going to sate him fully, he was starving, but it would do. It would be something to keep him going. If he fainted he’d be behind on his chores and then he’d never get to go to the ball. Never get to dance with the prince! He internally scoffed at himself. As if a prince would ever want to dance with him. Shane was right, he was just a servant.

He set the empty plate and glass on the side table, some of the mice scurrying over to take it back to the kitchen.

“Sleep, Brenny,” Said Pete, gently, “We’ll get everything clean and sorted. It’ll be as if nothing happened.

“Be careful, Pete,” He yawned.

Pete winked, “I’m always careful.”

Brendon chuckled and shook his head, pulling the covers back over himself. He was still cold and still hungry, but the headache was slowly ebbing away and his stomach had at least stop rumbling. His head hit the pillow and he felt the tightness of the day melt away as he fell asleep.

~*~

Pete, Patrick and Sarah waited until Brendon had fallen asleep, to follow the other mice downstairs. They had to be careful and quiet otherwise the Stepmother’s cat, Morris would catch them. Pete and Sarah could recall many a time when a mouse would not make it back. The mice had built a network of tunnels that ran throughout the walls of the house, with entrances and exits in each room. But with the plate and the glass it was impossible to use them because the tunnels were mouse-sized.

Pete and Sarah weren’t going to leave the defenceless mice alone. Patrick followed them by proxy. He didn’t know the house like they did and had yet to encounter the kitten-devil that was Morris.

“Keep up, Patrick,” Pete whispered.

“Sorry.”

“We’re almost there,” Sarah said.

Then a large, black paw entered their vision.

“Oh no!” Exclaimed Sarah.

“The tunnels!” Pete yelled, grabbing Sarah and Patrick’s paws in either of his, running towards the nearest entrance. Morris was hot on their tails and if they didn't get to the tunnels soon they’d be the cat’s dessert.

Pete opened the little door, and gestured for the other two to enter quickly. Sarah went first, but Patrick tripped got stuck, his rear end, sticking out of the doorway.

“Sarah! Grab ahold of Patrick’s hands and pull!” Pete ordered, as he pushed Patrick in. Morris was looming in on them, towering over the tiny mice.

With one final push and pull from Pete and Sarah, Patrick became unstuck, falling into the tunnel. Pete rushed in behind him and closed the door. Morris pawing it as it shut. They breathed heavily, if they’d have been even a second more, they wouldn’t be alive.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick panted. 

“It’s okay. The others are probably already in the kitchen. We should go help them. It’s this way,” Sarah said, leading the path.

Pete smiled at him and took his paw, “We’re okay. Don’t sweat it, Patty.”

“Don’t call me that,” He glared.

The other mouse looked thoughtful, “How about, Trick?”

“Better,” Patrick smiled, “C’mon, Petey, we need to help the others.”

“If you insist, my lady.”

Patrick thumped Pete across his ear, “Don’t even go there.”

“Sorry,” He mumbled.

“Apology accepted. Now show me the way to the kitchen!”

“Aye, aye, captain!”

Patrick shook his head and laughed. Pete was definitely an interesting mouse, but he was becoming quite fond of him already. Patrick had only been there for a day and yet Pete was being so nice to him. It was a refreshing change from scampering around the village alone. Here he had friends, well acquaintances, but _friends,_ and safe hideaways. As long as he stayed clear from Morris he’d be fine. Just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clear up any confusion, Shane, Brendon's stepbrother is meant to be Shane Valdes, and Morris is meant to be Shane Morris. Just in case anyone wasn't too sure.


	3. I Gotta Have Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter from Ryan's side of things. 
> 
> (I have not edited this, so sorry for any mistakes)

The palace had been built on the highest point near the village. No matter where Ryan was in the castle he could see the village, and no matter where the villagers were they could see the palace. He sat in a chair on his balcony, reading a book. It was one he had read a dozen times before, the spine and covers were tattered and the pages were yellowing and dog-eared. It smelt old, but it was comforting to the Prince. The doors opened, but Ryan didn’t notice until Spencer pushed the book away from his face. 

“It is done, all eligible men from the village have been invited,” Spencer said.

“It’s just me, Spence, no need to sound so formal,” Ryan replied, “I wish he wasn’t making me do this. You’d be a much better King than me, and with Linda by your side, you’d be the best rulers this kingdom has ever seen.”

“But you’ve been training your whole life for this, Ry. Besides, your father is letting you marry a man. It took a lot of convincing, but I suppose you should be slightly grateful he’s a sexist pig.”

“I’m a selfish man, Spin. This kingdom is not going to survive with me on the throne.”

“That’s why you need to find someone kind at this ball,” Spencer said gently, sitting on the floor and pulling Ryan down with him, “Besides, I’m here to advise you. You know, the job I’ve been destined for since the day we met. One of us has to have the brains, and that’s clearly not you.”

“Hey!” Ryan defended meekly, slapping Spencer’s arm.

Spencer only winked at him, and Ryan relaxed himself in Spencer’s embrace and allowed his best friend to hold him. Ryan was the eldest of the both of them, but it was Spencer’s fierce need to protect his loved ones that made him seem older. Neither one of them cared, that’s just how it always had been since they met.

“I got sent a letter today from Gabriel, confirming he and William will be joining us for the ball,” Spencer remarked.

Ryan made a noncommittal sound, but he _was_ happy. He hadn’t seen Gabe or William since they got married and he missed them greatly. They were the kings of a neighbouring kingdom and Gabe and Ryan became friends the moment they had their first political meeting with their fathers. They had both been ten, and thought it was the most boring thing in the world. They spent most of that night imitating the generals and the kings, much to the dismay of both their fathers. Ryan had been punished the day he and his father got back to the palace.

“Ry?” Spencer asked as he waved a hand in front of the Prince’s face. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“I was saying,” He started, “Never mind. I think your father wants to speak to you.” 

“Well, that can’t be good,” Ryan chuckled, nervously. He disentangled himself from Spencer’s familiar and comfortable embrace. He had never been a tactile person, but the Smith’s were a rare breed and they were the only ones Ryan allowed to come into close contact with him. Gabe and William were an exception, of course, but Ryan didn’t even let his own father hug him. Couldn’t even remember the last time his father had tried. 

The high walls of the palace allowed for a spacious illusion, and Ryan revelled in it. He wasn’t short by any means, and low ceilings often made him feel cramped and giant. The corridors and main rooms were tiled, but the bedrooms and dining room were wooden floorboards. The floors were always shining and Ryan could always see his reflection in it, even distorted, he hated looking at himself and instead always had his gaze ahead. 

His father’s room was the one exception to this, the floor was carpeted and Ryan swore he could have counted the fibres of it by now with the amount of time he had spent looking at it. Ryan knocked at the door. 

“You may enter!” Someone shouted. 

Ryan turned the door knob and pushed the door forward, “You wanted to see me, Sir?” 

“Ah, George, there you are. I was beginning to think you decided to run off. I was getting ready to devise my punishment for you, but you are here now so there will be none of that,” His father said, “Now, your ball is to be held here in two-days time. As you know, the ball is to find a man suitable for you to marry. I have so graciously allowed you to find a man rather than a woman, if you fail to find someone at this ball, I will punish you severely and force you to marry one of the Smith girls. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Sir,” Ryan mumbled. 

“Speak up, boy. No man in the kingdom will want to marry you if you cannot be heard.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Ryan repeated, louder, “Sorry, Sir.” He bit back a comment about how the men of the kingdom would marry him regardless. 

“Good. Do not disappoint me, George. You are dismissed,” His father said, flicking his hand toward the door. 

Ryan didn’t reply as he turned on his heel and walked out the door to find Spencer. His head was reeling, if he didn’t find someone at this ball, he’d have to marry one of Spencer’s sisters. They were nice girls, and Ryan didn’t have anything against them, but it’d be like marrying one of _his_ sisters, and he really didn’t want to have to go through the rest of his life married to Crystal or Jackie. He was sure they wouldn’t want to either. Ryan knew that many royal families, married their relatives, but Ryan wasn’t convinced with the idea, whether he was related to the Smith’s or not. 

The _clack_ of his shoes hitting the tiles only served to irritate Ryan further. He desperately needed to find Spencer, needed to repeat everything his father had said to him, to let his thoughts spill out and fill another person. To share the weight of them.

“Looking for someone, Sir?” Asked a maid carrying a wicker basket of flowers.

“Elizabeth,” Ryan breathed, “Have you seen Spencer?”

“Last I saw, he was in the drawing room, just off the landing from you bedroom, Sir,” She replied.

“Thank you,” He said, walking toward the room.

It seemed like an eternity stuck with his thoughts before he finally found Spencer in the drawing room. Ryan didn’t say anything, didn’t have to, as he climbed into Spencer’s lap and batted away a book he was reading.

“Ry?” He questioned, placing the book on the arm of the chair to accommodate Ryan.

He recited everything to Spencer, who listened pensively. Spencer let the words sink in, as much as his sisters adored Ryan, they were set to marry noblemen who belonged to the same class as themselves. He knew how introverted Ryan could be and he knew how frustratingly arrogant men could be when trying to catch themselves a wealthy prince.

“We’ll find someone, Ry. We will,” Spencer soothed, picking up his book.

He was halfway through it but Ryan didn’t mind as Spencer started reading it out loud, he himself had probably read it before anyway. His voice was familiar and comforting, and Ryan felt his eyes droop as Spencer read.

The door to the drawing room opened, revealing Jackie and Crystal. Ryan begrudgingly pulled himself away from Spencer and sat next to him. Both girls were slightly dishevelled and panting as if they had run a marathon.

“We came as quick as we could,” Began Jackie.

“Mother told us, about your father’s plan, Ryan,” Crystal continued.

“That’s why we’ve invited ourselves to your ball. To help you find the man of your dreams!” They finished together.

“And you decided to run all the way over here to tell me that?” Ryan asked, bemused.

“Well, yes, and also to say that we’re allowed to help pick out your outfit. Z said we could,” said Crystal.

“ _Elizabeth_ needs to mind her own damned business,” Ryan responded, curtly.

“Such foul language, Ross, what would mother say?” Spencer teased.

Ryan rolled his eyes and batted Spencer’s arm before turning to the girls, “Find Dan and tell him to set four more places at the table. You three and your mother should join us for dinner.”

The twins nodded before gathering their skirts and leaving the room much more put together than how they entered.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Spencer asked once the door closed.

“No idea like a spectacularly bad one,” Ryan countered. Spencer raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t press the subject.

~*~

Ryan’s father sat at one head of the table, Ryan at the other. Spencer sat to the right of him, and Crystal on the left. Jackie sat at his father’s right, and Spencer’s mother, Ginger, sat at his left. The unexpected dinner guests did not deter Ryan’s father, instead he had happily insisted that “the more, the merrier.”

Dinner passed quietly, none of the Smith’s daring to say a word and neither Ross initiating conversation. It was awkward and the tension in the room was thick. Spencer maintained a smile, but he was used to the strained relationship between Ryan and his father, and had endured many quiet dinners at Ryan’s side.

Ryan ate slowly and chewed methodically. He could feel himself floating away into his own thoughts. If he couldn't find a man at the ball, he didn’t know what he'd do. He supposed if worst came to worst he could flee to Gabe and William’s kingdom, he’d have sanctuary there. He dreaded thinking about it.

Ryan could hear Spencer’s voice telling him to have hope. He wished he could, but his hopes had been crushed many times before and he did not doubt that they would be crushed again. 

~*~

Ryan sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. Dinner had long since ended and Spencer had not retired to his own family quarters. Both of their eyes were heavy lidded, and he knew it was time for them to part for the evening.

“Have faith, Ry. You’ll find someone. I know it.” Spencer spoke gently.

Ryan made a noncommittal sound as he swung his legs onto the bed, and wriggled to get under his covers.

“Sleep well,” Spencer whispered, pressing his lips against Ryan’s forehead.

“G’night, Spence,” He replied, sleepily. He closed his eyes, and Spencer took the candle that had been illuminating the room and walked out, shutting the door behind him and walked toward his own bedroom. Tomorrow was going to be an even longer day.


End file.
